


Distract Me

by trash4ficsaboutlurv



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5579039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash4ficsaboutlurv/pseuds/trash4ficsaboutlurv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is annoyed and Steve's gonna fix it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distract Me

Sam’s football team had lost—badly. And now Sam is in a mood, scowling at the postgame show hosts as they criticize every player and coach decision. They’re only saying what hewas shouting at the television for three hours, but Sam’s dark glower is murderously fixed on the analysts anyway, as if they’re attacking beloved family members and not the people he has been maligning all evening. Steve would laugh if he thought Sam wouldn’t bite his head off.

He pokes him in the shoulder. “None of it matters anyway,” he says, trying to give his boyfriend some much needed perspective.

Sam’s brow crinkles. “Psych 101, Steve, you don’t tell someone the thing that’s pissing them off doesn’t matter.”

Steve strokes Sam’s shoulder in apology, tries to keep the amusement out of his tone. “Noted. Lesson learned.” (One of Sam’s previous Psych lessons states that Steve shouldn’t call a pissed-off person cute, so Steve isn’t going to bring it up. But Sam _is_ awfully cute right now. His mahogany-flushed cheeks and clenched jaw are hitting all the right spots for Steve.) He continues to stroke Sam’s arm as he asks, “What should I do instead?”

Sam shrugs. “Say ‘That’s sucks,’ bring me warm beverages, distract me. Pick a fight with Tony.”

Steve grins. “Distract you?” he says, placing his hands on Sam’s knee. “Like this?” He runs his hands up the rough denim towards the V of Sam’s legs, feels the tense muscles underneath the fabric.

“The quarterback threw three interceptions,” Sam says. “It’s gonna take a lot more than your hands on my dick to make me forget.”

Steve’s smile widens. He leans forward until his lips are inches from Sam’s. Sam’s breath smells like the spearmint gum he has been neurotically chewing all evening. “Is this better?” he asks. His hands are kneading Sam’s thighs.

“No,” Sam says, but Steve can tell he doesn’t mean it. His glare is starting to dissolve. “Two fumbles, Steve. One in the in-zone.”

Steve closes the distance between them, kisses Sam slow and sweet. Gentle pressure, nothing fancy. He pulls away. “How about now?”

“Six drops from our number one receiver,” Sam says, but his voice has lost its indignation.

Steve catches Sam’s bottom lip between his teeth, then worries away the sting with his tongue. His hands are bracketing Sam’s rib cage, then his upper arms, his shoulders. Steve pushes until Sam’s back is braced on the arm of the sofa. He follows, kissing down the column of Sam’s neck, using his tongue and teeth to bring small bruises to the surface of his dark skin. Sam’s head falls back, but he’s not giving up easy.

“The kicker missed two field goals.” His voice is shakier as Steve’s hands slip under his T-shirt. “That’s all they pay him for. To kick the damn ball.”

“Shhh,” Steve croons against the sensitive spot just below Sam’s ear. He hisses.

Steve slides a hand over Sam’s lap to check his progress. Sam’s cock is about halfway there. At the contact, Sam sighs into his mouth and lifts his hips eagerly.

“Let me distract you,” Steve says.

Sam initiates the next kiss, plunging his fingers into Steve’s hair and holding him close. Steve braces himself to keep his weight up, but Sam pulls him down. “S’better,” he mumbles against Steve’s lips. He rolls his hips and brushes against Steve’s hardening dick.

Steve grunts. It doesn’t take more than a few minutes of rocking against each other before they’re both panting and hard. Sam pushes at Steve’s shoulder until he sits up.

“Bedroom,” he says breathlessly. He stands and yanks his t-shirt off gracelessly, fumbles with the button of his jeans.

Steve catches his hand. “Let me,” he says. Still seated, Steve is at the perfect height to appreciate Sam’s abs. He presses a kiss to each bulge of muscle, dips his tongue into Sam’s navel and is rewarded with a hiss of pleasure. Sam is fairly quiet when they make love. No, that’s not right. He talks plenty, usually to sass Steve about one thing or another. But he isn’t much for moaning and groaning. He’s all sharp intakes of breath and little sighs. And Steve lives for those sighs, the way Sam pants when Steve is inside him, the little breathless ah-ah-ah sounds he makes when he comes. Hell, Steve probably goes over the edge half the time because Sam sounds so spent, so completely gone that all he can do is expel little puffs of air.

Steve unbuttons and unzips Sam’s jeans and the outline of his hard cock is gorgeous. He nuzzles Sam through his boxers, mouths at his length. Sam exhales.

“Bedroom,” Sam says again. “We gotta leave the scene of the crime.” He tilts his head toward the TV where the analysts are showing replays of every missed opportunity and mistake perpetrated by Sam’s team.

Steve smiles. “When I’m done with you, you won’t remember the score,” he promises.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “That’s some mighty big talk, Cap.”

Steve slips his hand inside Sam’s boxers, holds his cock in a loose grip. “What can I say? I’m a mighty big guy.”

Sam shudders at the skin-on-skin contact, pushes his hands through Steve’s hair and looks him in the eye when he says: “Distract me, Steve."

**Author's Note:**

> I literally wrote this to distract myself from my football team's terrible and costly loss this past Sunday. I am way too invested in my team's successes and failures. Anyhow, Sam and Steve are life, as usual.


End file.
